A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(14)

But not too rare to blow up our family. We watched in helpless agony as Mom stopped walking, and she stopped talking. Her deterioration seemed to happen at warp speed, and, at the same time, it seemed to last forever. It’s so hard to watch someone you love suffer. I’ll probably never get over it.

Her smile was the last thing to go. And it took all our smiles with it.





The canteen is quiet. There are five or six ski-patrol team members seated around a table, drinking coffee. There’s only one person ahead of me at the service counter. I take a muffin and slide it onto a paper plate. Then I wait my turn at the coffee urn.

“Excuse me,” a woman says from behind the counter. She’s got a bandanna tied across her hair and a stern expression on her face. “The canteen is only for employees. Can I see your ID?”

“You could, but it’s at least a decade out of date. I’m Reed. It’s been a while since I pulled a shift on the quad lift.”

Her frown only deepens. “Do I have to call security? I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, here.”

“Deborah,” says a soft voice from behind me. “It’s fine.”

“Oh!” she says brightly. “Is he with you, Ava?”

I swing around, and there she is. The moment I see her pretty face, I feel it like a punch to the solar plexus. Hell, that’s nothing new. Every time Ava walked into my room in Vermont, it felt like a brand-new miracle. Together, we had everything.

Until the day we didn’t.

“He’s definitely not with me,” Ava says, her eyes flashing.

Oh, honey. I am sorry. I’m sorry all over again.

There’s a very awkward silence, until a woman behind her in line says, “Wow, Ava. Burn.”

Ava ignores her. She addresses the canteen worker instead. “His last name is Madigan, so he could fire us all over that cup of coffee.”

Deborah scowls.

“I won’t, though.” I smile at the ornery woman. “Promise.”

“As long as you promise,” Ava hisses.

Fuck. Everyone in the room is watching this little drama play out. And Ava has cast me in the role of the owner’s asshole son.

Which I am.

“If you don’t have an employee ID, I have to charge you,” Deborah says. “Five dollars.”

I’m fishing my wallet out of my pocket when my father comes galloping into the room. That’s not an exaggeration. He moves like a husky dog on the first day it snows. “Ava! You’re never going to believe this.” He skids to a stop in front of my ex. “The Sharpes are going to be forty-eight hours early for their meeting.”

“What?” Her pink lips part in shock. “They’re coming tonight?”

“That’s right. Just got off the phone.”

“Holy crap. What time are they showing up?”

“About six o’clock. Dinnertime.”

She blows out a breath. “Okay. We’ll do a welcome dinner in the Evergreen Room. And I’ll ask accounting and legal to reschedule for earlier in the week.”

My father beams.

“Oh good,” I say. “I can meet the buyer tonight and sit in on those meetings.”

They both turn to me, and the look on Ava’s face suggests she would rather have oral surgery than see me at that dinner.

My father doesn’t seem to take notice. “Morning, Reed. You’re welcome to come to the dinner.” Then he puts a hand on Ava’s arm. “We’ll huddle up in the Evergreen Room in twenty? I’ve got to tell Melody about the change of plans.”

“Sure,” Ava says, straightening her spine. “I’ll be ready.”

“I know you will.” My father gives her arm a pat and bounds out of the room.

“Damn it all,” Ava says. “I need caffeine.” She grabs a cup and fills it with coffee.

“Yes, you do,” the woman who came in with her agrees. “How about I run and find the chef for you? I’ll tell her that she needs to drop everything and plan the meal.”

“Oh, Halley, thank you. Send her to the Evergreen Room. That’s where I’ll be having my breakdown.”

Her friend laughs. “Two days early? Who does that?”

“They want to catch you off guard,” I offer. “See what the place is like when you don’t have time to prepare.”

She gives me a withering look, turns around, and leaves the room. I hastily fit a lid onto my coffee and then hurry after her. “Hey, Ava? Can I talk to you?”

“Now?” she shoots over her shoulder. “I don’t exactly have the time.”

“I know, but…” I follow her out into the hotel lobby where sunlight is pouring in through the tall windows facing the mountain. “We should talk.”

“Can’t think of why,” she says as I finally catch up to her long strides. Ava used to compete in cross-country ski races. Maybe she still does. “It’s been years, and I can’t think of what I’d even say. I’m over it, okay?” She pulls up short in front of a glass door marked Evergreen Room.

“Ava,” I whisper, putting my hand on the door to stop her from charging away from me. We’re standing closer together than we’ve been in a decade. So close that I can smell the apple scent of her shampoo.